


The Importance of Sartorial Choices

by prettyasadiagram



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-09
Updated: 2012-06-09
Packaged: 2017-11-07 08:30:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/428982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettyasadiagram/pseuds/prettyasadiagram
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rule No. 65: If Steve isn’t wearing cargo pants, Danny reserves the right to take the day off/work from home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Importance of Sartorial Choices

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to thatdamneddame for the beta, as usual

The thing is, Danny has rules for dealing with Steve. He has to, otherwise he’d go crazy. Occasionally, he even shares these rules, no sense in holding Steve to standards he isn’t aware of, that way only leads to disappointment. So, for example, the first rule was very explicitly stated within twenty-four hours of his acquaintance with Steve:  
Rule No. 1: If you get someone shot, YOU APOLOGIZE.

The second came along soon after:  
Rule No. 2: Don’t call me “Danno.”

(That rule never gets followed, but Danny has given up trying to enforce it, except on the rare occasion that Steve has broken more than fifteen laws and is bleeding from more than three places. Happens less often than you’d think, but often skirts the line. Danny flat out refuses to “book ‘em” when Steve has flagrantly violated so many laws and personal agreements.)

Then there are the rules that Danny doesn’t tell anyone about, because he’s full of squirmy feelings just thinking about them, and it’s no use sharing his feelings with anyone else. Kono would try to pinch his cheeks and coo, and he’s pretty sure Chin would forward him every single sappy chain email that he could find. So for his own sake, some rules remain secret:

Rule No. 34: If Steve actually completes his paperwork in a timely manner, I’ll forego a tie the next day as a reward.

or:

Rule No. 16: Three heavy sighs in the span of an hour = I’ll sneak out and get coffee for “the office.” (But Chin and Kono give him those looks, the _I know what you’re up to, and it’s just so damn precious look._ He hates that look.)

Anyway, Danny has long harped on Steve’s love of cargo pants. They’re not professional, they’re bulky, and Steve never actually remembers which pocket he put the car keys in. Those infractions are not enough on their own to necessitate a specific rule, but Danny sees a pattern beginning to develop in the craziness of his life. There are many weeks when 5-O has bad days, days when everyone is scraped up and sore, walking like they were beaten but still grinning, and then there are days when Steve has to use Chin as a crutch because he was shot in the leg, and Kono clutches her ribs as she shuffles toward the awaiting ambulance. Chin is usually fine in all circumstances, looking ridiculously manly in his Henleys and carrying his shotgun. But eventually Danny notices that more often than not, when those bad days come around, Steve isn’t wearing his cargo pants. And this is a pattern. And this is bad. Thus, a new rule is born:

Rule No. 65: If Steve isn’t wearing cargo pants, Danny reserves the right to take the day off/work from home.

His reasoning is simple: if Danny isn’t there, Steve is less likely to push ahead with his harebrained idea. Ergo, less physical and emotional damage, not to mention a break for their growing tab of property damage.

(Danny has an Excel spreadsheet that keeps track of how much they’ve cost the taxpayers. The Governor likes to send him updates occasionally. It’s awkward.)

+++

Steve comes in to work on a random Wednesday wearing black dress pants. And a button down. No tie, and granted, the sleeves are rolled up, but then again, so are Danny’s. But still, _a button down._ And the pants aren’t denim, aren’t khaki, only have the regular four pockets.

Danny stares. “You look nice; got a meeting today?”

“No?” Steve fidgets.

“Oh, a date later?”

“No.” Ah, there’s the steely tone Danny had been missing.

“A family portrait with Mary?”

“No. These were just hanging in my closet and I thought—”

“And here I was wondering if you even owned any business casual clothing,” Danny smirks.

Steve glares and heads into his office.

Danny thinks nothing of it, and then it all goes to shit. 

Turns out, rolling out of a moving car and then diving into the ocean to stop a drug runner from swimming out to his getaway boat is hell on black pants. By the time Steve manages to drag himself out of the water, the pants are clearly mangled from the fight and the salt water. Also, judging from the look on his face, the salt water isn’t too fun on road rash either.

While Steve winces and towel-dries his hair, Danny walks over to give him an earful about waiting for backup (Rule No. 23) and not lying to one’s partner about one’s intended actions (Rule No. 37), but when he sees the miserable and braced look on Steve’s face, he changes tactics, “Shame about those pants; they looked good on you.”

As Steve blinks rapidly, Danny claps him on the shoulder and walks away, but he swears he hears Steve make a strangled noise behind him. When he turns to check, Steve has his hands clenched in his hair and looks ready to throw himself back into the water.

+++

The next time Steve doesn’t wear his usual khakis to work is on the newly-instated Casual Friday. Kono had demanded it, arguing that if they were going to work late almost every Friday, she should at least be comfortable.

Steve shows up wearing jeans that hug his ass and when Kono wolf whistles, Danny just sort of rolls with it. He appreciates the view just as much as she does. Besides, he remembers how well the conversation went last time he brought up Steve’s sartorial choices; no need to relive that moment.

It’s a normal work day until Steve goes out to get malasadas at noon because he’s in some sort of bizarre jovial mood, but then he comes back with what appears to be a gunshot wound to the shoulder, white bandage dotted with blood. He is, however, carrying a bag of malasadas very triumphantly.

Danny rushes into the hallway, Chin and Kono on his heels. “What the hell, Steven? Can you go nowhere unchaperoned? What the fuck happened?” Danny ignores the malasadas and the pout on Steve’s face, “Stop shoving that bag in my face and tell me what happened.”

Steve’s face falls. “I went to get some malasadas, like I said, but then there was a robbery in progress so I, you know, stepped in, and everyone’s fine, I tackled the guy, and then they gave me the bag for free!” He offers Danny the bag, like that’s going to make up for the fact that Steve is apparently incapable of getting food without injuring himself.

Danny takes a step back. “It’s gotta be the pants.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You aren’t wearing your usual cargos. Last time, you broke your streak of not diving into bodies of water without backup. This is the first time you’ve gotten shot in thirteen months. You think it’s a coincidence? You were doing so well, Steve. No major injuries, no outlandish maneuvers, and now you’ve broken it all with your ass in those jeans.”

By this point, Kono and Chin have backed away slowly, eyes wide.

“You, my friend, are cursed.”

“Superstitions? I thought you didn’t believe in curses?” Steve looks skeptical.

“Normally, no. Under usual circumstances, I would just chalk this up as a side-effect of your terrible mind warping experience at the hands of the Navy, but I just don’t know anymore.” Danny runs his hands through his hair. “OK, new rule, No. 65: If you aren’t wearing cargo pants, I reserve the right to take the day off or work from home.”

Chin leans in, “Brah, I don’t think you can do that—”

“Regardless, I’m doing it anyway. Case in point, I’m going home. I’ll see you all tomorrow,” he pauses to point at Steve, “and if you aren’t wearing cargo pants, I’m taking a sick day.” With that, Danny walks out, wishing he’d had the forethought to grab a malasada first; they smell delicious.

+++

In fact, Steve doesn’t wear cargo pants the next day.

Danny goes home.

That night, he gets an update from Kono: Steve had gotten stuck in an elevator and wouldn’t let them call in Danny for backup, Kono has twisted her ankle, and Chin had been missing, but no worries, they found him.

See? Cursed.

+++

Sometimes Danny tries to tough it out, pretend like what he knows to be a curse doesn’t actually exist, but eventually he gets tired of increasingly bizarre things happening when Steve decides he wants to be a real boy and wear grown up pants that don’t have stupid pockets at the knee.

It gets to the point where one Monday, Steve walks in not wearing cargo pants, and Danny looks up briefly before simply saying, “No. Get out. Leave. Right now. It’s the end of you and me.”

The look Steve gives him is a combination of _you-just-stomped-on-all-my-feelings, what the fuck just happened,_ with a little bit of _there was a “you and me” and I’ve been missing out on the sweet, sweet lovin?_ thrown in for good measure.

To which Danny just makes a face like he hates himself, “Before you get any ideas, Steven, I’ll have you know that Gracie has discovered the powers of Pandora and pop songs of the early 90s/late 2000s persuasion. All weekend it’s like karaoke night with Jojo and J. Lo. I’m dying here. But my point stands—either go change into some cargo pants, or I’m taking the day off.”

“All my pants are in the laundry except these, Danno. Come on.”

“I took the liberty of buying you some cargo pants, in preparation for such an occasion. They’re in the office closet. No need to thank me, or pay me back, just change or go home.”

Steve changes, and the day turns out just fine.

+++

Danny finally gets it when the team goes out for one of their sporadic group dinners. Steve wears a pair of nice slacks and looks anxiously at Danny. Last time they had done of these team-bonding things, Steve had worn some crappy khakis and Danny had mocked him mercilessly for owning only cargo pants...

“Excuse me—Steve? Can I talk to you for a second?” Danny grips Steve’s elbow and drags him around the corner. “The pants. Explain.” He points helpfully, in case Steve is being willfully obstinate.

“What? Last time you said I should ‘put forth more of an effort.’ Isn’t this what you wanted?” Steve sounds defensive.

“Oh God, I’m an idiot. Or you’re an idiot, I like that one better—”

“Hey!”

“—no, don’t interrupt, Steven, that’s rude. Now tell me why you thought you needed to look nice to get my attention? Come on, you know I think you’re the prettiest boy in the precinct. For Christ’s sake, I told you your pants fit really well. I wasn’t exactly subtle”

Steve crosses his arms and looks put out.

“Oh, for the love of—come here,” Danny hooks a hand around Steve’s neck and pulls him down, and as Steve squawks in surprise, Danny kisses him silent.

“What’s going to happen is this: we’re going to go back to the table. Kono will make some sort of _bow chicka wow wow noise,_ Chin will look smug and knowing, and then you’ll take me home after dinner. You’re never going to wear anything but cargo pants to work, and you can pick me up for dinner, Friday at seven. How’s that sound?”

Spoiler: Steve has no problem with Danny’s plans.

(Danny eventually gets it out of Steve, later, while they’re sprawled across Steve’s massive bed, that he wore the occasional black pants or whatever into the office because he wanted to look nice, to show Danny that he was more than some Navy Seal grunt, that he could be professional and he could look nice and all he wanted was for Danny to just take him home—ok, Danny added that last bit, but Steve totally didn’t deny it.)

**Author's Note:**

> Please do not repost this work in its entirety or share this work on third-party websites such as Goodreads.


End file.
